““When I consider, with all the clarity I can muster, what my life has apparently been, I imagine it as some brightly coloured scrap of litter -a chocolate wrapper or a cigar ring -that the eavesdropping waitress brushes lightly from the soiled tablecloth into the dustpan, amongst the crumbs and crusts of reality itself. It stands out from those things whose fate it shares by virtue of a privilege that is also destined for the dustpan. The gods continue their conversations above the sweeping, indifferent to these incidents in the world below.””
